Chosen for Death (17 page)

"Dr. Tabor?" she said. "I'm sorry to hear that. I was just talking to him. He seemed very nice. Described you as feisty and restless. I wonder what those were euphemisms for? Bitchy and unreasonable?"

"Probably," I said.

"And that policeman. What a hunk! Made me want to have a little accident myself."

Well, everyone can't have my good judgment about men. Besides, Suzanne didn't know them like I did. Maybe they only treated women like meat when they were horizontal. But that's a large part of the male/female relationship. "I don't recommend it," I said. "My nose may never be the same again." I struggled to a sitting position, feeling energized by my nap. "Help me get dressed, will you?"

My contortions and grimaces must have alarmed her. She just stood there, staring at me. "Thea," she said, "I don't think..."

"Don't think," I said, "help. I'm no martyr, you know that. I wouldn't try to leave if I wasn't ready." Which was a lie. I would have left even if I had to crawl out. "Didn't the good Dr. Tabor say I could leave?"

"Not quite," she said. "He said you could leave if there was someone who could take care of you. And I know I can do that, even if you are an impossible patient. I've done it before." She opened the bag she'd brought and became her usual efficient self, laying things out on the bed in the order we'd need them. I said good-bye to the hospital johnny without regret and we went to work. Getting my bra on took both of us and made us both laugh so hard I almost died from the pain, but it felt good to laugh. "Hold still," she ordered. "It isn't easy to corral two wayward cantaloupes if you keep laughing."

"They aren't that big," I said.

"Compared to two fried eggs like mine, dahling," she said, "they're enormous."

She'd chosen black lace underwear. It matched my bruises nicely. My side, where Charlie had kicked me, was a multicolored extravaganza. I was decently dressed in the two black wisps, bent over, holding my side and laughing, when the door opened and Andre and Dr. Bob strolled in. Andre had the grace to stop at the door, but Dr. Bob kept on coming until Suzanne took charge. "Stop right there," she commanded. Dr. Bob looked surprised, but he stopped. "You can see that the patient is dressing," Suzanne said. "Don't you have any manners? Don't people in hospitals bother to knock?" She stood protectively between me and them. She's only about half my size, so it wasn't a total screen, but it was something.

"She's my patient," Dr. Bob began. "I've seen—"

"I'm sure you've seen it all before, Doctor," Suzanne said. "So have I. I'd still mind if you barged into my bedroom uninvited while I was dressing. You might even mind if someone did it to you." She pointed at the door. "Please?"

Andre was staring at the bruise on my side. "Like I told you, Detective," I said, "this is not from any car accident. It was a human foot. Bet you've seen bruises like this before."

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, Suzanne interrupted with a firm, "Out." They left. "I see what you mean," she said. "A bit pushy, perhaps. Still, Dr. Bob has possibilities. I wonder if he's married?"

"Probably to a prime rib," I said.

After that, getting dressed went smoothly. She even brushed my hair and tied it with a scarf. Then she stepped back and inspected me. "That's the best I can do, without a veil," she said. "You really are a sight. It's a good thing I talked your mother out of coming. She would have been shocked." She pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the briefcase. "Wear these. I've taken care of the paperwork. I'll go and tell them you're ready to leave. They insist on taking you out to the car in a wheelchair."

I opened my mouth to protest. Suzanne held up a hand like a traffic cop. "Don't argue about it, Thea, OK?" She knows me so well. Anticipating the trouble spots and smoothing them over. She'd picked the right clothes for me, too, soft and stretchy and easy to put on. She'd even brought my favorite scarf. My partner. She left to secure my release.

Chapter 13

Suzanne was not pleased when I told her we still had to clean out Carrie's apartment. In fact, she flatly refused to do more than go by to pick up my suitcase. "Don't be silly, Thea," she said. "I'm not dressed for lugging boxes and you can't do anything. We'll just explain that to the landlord. He'll just have to wait. We can offer some extra rent or something. Wasn't Carrie paid up for the month?"

"She was. The landlord's a lady, or at least a woman. And reason is not her strong suit." I described my previous encounters with Mrs. Bolduc.

"I'll take care of it," Suzanne said. Normally I would have argued. I'm bad at delegating. I prefer to do things myself. But Suzanne and I have five years of working together. We've both had to let go when it was hard for us. So I didn't argue. I'd used my day's allotment of energy just getting dressed and leaving the hospital. You know you're hurt when the effort of getting from a wheelchair into a car makes you want to cry.

Suzanne parked outside the apartment. I gave her the key and told her where my stuff was. She was halfway up the walk when Mrs. Bolduc came charging out of the house. "I hope you've come to get the rest of her stuff out of there. I have a tenant who wants to move in this week, and I've got to clean..."

I watched through the window, eager to see what Suzanne would do. She held out her hand, very formal. "Mrs. Bolduc? I'm Suzanne Begner." Mrs. Bolduc stopped talking and reluctantly shook the offered hand. Suzanne took her firmly by the arm and steered her over to the car. "This is Mrs. Kozak, your late tenant's sister." I also shook her hand, enjoying the way Suzanne was taking control. "Mrs. Kozak, as you know, came up to clean out the apartment. Unfortunately, she was in an automobile accident on Saturday. I've just picked her up at the hospital. Her doctor says it will be at least two weeks before she can do any lifting." Suzanne put her hand on Mrs. Bolduc's arm, which was resting on the hood, and leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Such a dreadful series of events for the family."

Mrs. Bolduc stirred restlessly. I'd only seen her behind the curtain. She turned out to be a small, yellowish woman with badly dyed black hair and heavily penciled brows. She had a narrow, mean mouth. "Of course I'm sorry for their problems," she said, "but I've got my own living to think about. It ain't easy to rent a place that was had by a murdered person. Folks don't like that. Now I've got a tenant who don't care, says he'll take it anyway, but he's got to move in soon. Leavin' his wife, see. So her stuff's got to be gone this week."

"Miss McKusick paid her rent to the end of the month, didn't she?" Suzanne asked.

Mrs. Bolduc nodded. "And don't expect to get it back. Not entitled, you know, what with her not giving no notice or nothing."

Suzanne feigned surprise. "There was a written lease?"

"Nope. I just told her, that's all. Two weeks' notice. In writing. So I could plan, see. These girls, they're not real responsible, see, so you have to give 'em some rules."

I could tell Suzanne was trying not to smile. "You can hardly hold it against Miss McKusick that she didn't give notice, Mrs. Bolduc. She didn't expect to be killed, did she? Of course, we'd be glad to give notice. There are still two weeks left in the month. Perhaps, Mrs. Kozak, you should?"

I'd almost drifted off, sitting in the warm car. I uttered the most formal sentence I could think of. "Mrs. Bolduc, please consider this official notice, on behalf of my sister Carrie's estate, that the apartment will be vacated in two weeks, on the last day of September. We'll send written notice tomorrow," I said.

Mrs. Bolduc folded her skinny arms across her chest. "Nope," she said. "Now." I wanted to hit her.

Suzanne stayed cool. She opened her briefcase and pulled out her checkbook. "What was the rent?" she asked.

"Five hundred a month," Mrs. Bolduc said, automatically. "Security deposit of one month's rent in advance."

Suzanne wrote a check, tore it out, and handed it to her. "Out by the end of the month, and here's another half month's rent for your inconvenience. I think you'll find that's fair. We would hate to have to get lawyers involved in this. That would be needlessly expensive for you, wouldn't it? You did know that Miss McKusick's father is an attorney?" She waited for Mrs. Bolduc's reaction. The landlady hesitated, then snatched the check out of Suzanne's hand.

"Out by the thirtieth or I really will get rid of her stuff," she said. "And I ain't renting to no more single girls. Sluts, all of them. Leading good boys astray." She glared at me. "Your sister deserved what she got." She turned her back and walked away.

"Wow, what a bitch!" Suzanne said, leaning against the door. "What was that all about?"

"Beats me," I said. "I wish I knew."

"Or maybe you don't," Suzanne said. "Let's get out of here before I give in to my desire to burn her house down." She went inside and was back in no time with my suitcase. She put it in the back seat, started the car, and backed out. She handled her BMW with the same easy competence she brought to everything she did, moving it smoothly through the gears.

"Mind if I sleep?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I insist you stay awake and make scintillating conversation."

"Right," I said. "Good night." I reclined my seat as far as it would go and went to sleep, confident that this time no one would wake me to take my temperature.

I woke to someone shaking my shoulder and calling my name. I woke slowly, like a swimmer coming up from a very deep dive. When I got to the surface I found Suzanne, looking worried. "Sorry to wake you, Thea," she said. "I didn't want to leave you alone in the car in case you woke up and were disoriented."

"Are we home already?" I looked around. We were in a parking lot. "This isn't home."

"Home is still about an hour and a half south," she said. "I'm too hungry to wait that long. Think you could eat something?"

"I could eat an elephant... if you cut it up for me."

"Good," she said. "This is some sort of steak house. I can't vouch for the quality, but I'll be happy to cut your meat."

The hostess didn't bat an eye at my bandaged nose and bruised face. Just picked up two huge, glossy menus and led us to a nice dark corner. Our waitress appeared promptly and offered us "something from the bar." Suzanne asked for white wine. I wanted something a good deal stronger than that, but I didn't know much about mild concussions or how well the painkillers I was taking mixed with alcohol, and my doctor hadn't given me any advice. I hadn't seen Dr. Bob after Suzanne drove him out of the room. I'd barely noticed him then. I'd been watching Andre. Andre, who had stared at my body like an impassioned artist first seeing the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Under other circumstances it might have been very erotic.

"Suzanne," I said, "can I drink?" She shook her head sadly. "Perrier," I said, "with lime." The waitress gave us an appraising look. Maybe she thought we were a couple. "We should be drinking champagne," I said, "to celebrate our partnership."

She smiled. A warm, happy smile. "We will," she said. "The Acton report was very good. You write so well. I'm jealous."

"Thanks. And you manage people so well. Neither Dr. Bob nor Mrs. Bolduc will ever be the same again."

"Poor Carrie. What an awful landlady she must have been. It was a nice apartment, though."

"It was," I said. "But Mrs. Bolduc spied on her. She even spied on me."

"That must have been very exciting for her," Suzanne said, "watching you carry in your suitcase and then carry in some boxes."

"She almost fell out the window when the state trooper brought me dinner." I waited for Suzanne's reaction.

"What?" she said.

"The detective working on Carrie's case. Andre Lemieux. The other guy you threw out of my room."

"He brought you dinner? My, you do work fast. I thought you'd sworn off men for life, after that awful banker?"

"I have, sort of. It was a bribe." I told her about my meeting with Andre, and how he'd shown up later with a peace offering in the form of dinner. Suzanne thought it was wonderful.

"No romance, just business?"

"Wouldn't be very practical, would it? A hundred miles apart, and in such different professions?"

She just shrugged. Suzanne is very romantic. "I wouldn't let it stand in my way, if it was something I wanted. Now I understand why he was looking at you like you were a hot fudge sundae."